


Like an Antelope in Headlights

by mrs_d



Series: Dead Ends [16]
Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: F/M, Pre-Canon, Unfinished
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:21:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26596702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_d/pseuds/mrs_d
Summary: T'Challa has a habit of freezing when he sees Nakia.
Relationships: Nakia (Black Panther)/T'Challa
Series: Dead Ends [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1113687
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	1. The Palace (Age Six)

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a 5+1 fic. I started writing it immediately after seeing Black Panther in the theatre back in 2018, but it's unfortunately languished in my WIPs folder ever since. I've decided to share what I have so far, as it's probably never going to be finished. (Never say never!... but probably never.)
> 
> On a related note: my heart is still broken by the tragic loss of Chadwick Boseman, taken much too soon. Rest in peace.

“Will you have to fight, Baba?”

T’Chaka turned away from the mirror to find T’Challa’s small, bright eyes on him. He smiled. “No, my son. I don’t think so.”

“But what if someone challenges you for the throne?” T’Challa said. “What if you fight them, and what if you lose?”

“Where would you get the idea that someone could beat me?” T’Chaka countered. It was always a possibility on challenge day, of course, but he didn’t want to burden a six-year-old boy with such worries. Instead, he half-crouched, raised his hands like claws and made the silly face that never failed to make his young son laugh. “Or perhaps you think  _ you  _ could?”

T’Challa giggled. “No, Baba.” 

“Oh, really?” T’Chaka swiped at him with bent fingers and tickled him. T’Challa shrieked with laughter and dodged T’Chaka’s next move. Soon, they were chasing one another around the room. T’Challa fended off T’Chaka’s playful swipes, batting at him like a kitten until he finally got one through T’Chaka’s defences. 

T’Chaka clutched at the spot dramatically and groaned. “Oh, you’ve bested me,” he said, sinking to his knees like a dying man. “I surrender!”

T’Challa hopped up on a nearby chair. “Now I shall be the Black Panther!” he declared in his high voice, puffing out his tiny chest. 

“Bast help us,” T’Chaka laughed. 

“What is going on in here?” a new voice asked. T’Chaka turned to find his mother, Nanali, in the doorway with her hands on her hips. “Honestly, my son, I forget which of you is the child sometimes.”

“Gogo, I am the Black Panther!” T’Challa announced, still on his chair.

“Perhaps, but you are not in the jungle, and that is not a tree,” Nanali scolded. “Step down before you fall.”

T’Challa jumped down, unconcerned. “Are we going to the waterfall soon?”

“In a minute. I came to tell your father that the royal jet is ready when he is,” said Nanali, nodding to T’Chaka. “If you are finished playing, that is.”

“Okay, Mama, I’m going,” said T’Chaka indulgently. He stood and dusted off his bare knees. He glanced in the mirror one last time, confirming that his dramatic death scene hadn’t marred the ceremonial paint on his chest or face. He adjusted the belt of his shorts — the metal ornaments dug into his waist a bit if he twisted a certain way — and turned back to face his captive audience. 

“What do you think?” he asked T’Challa. 

T’Challa’s face split into a wide grin. “I think you look like a king, Baba,” he replied proudly.

T’Chaka’s throat went tight suddenly, his eyes starting to sting. “I hope I won’t let you down,” he managed after a moment.

“Impossible,” said T’Challa, and he ran in for one last, tight hug.

When they parted, Nanali was giving them a watery smile. “Come, my son,” she said, putting an arm around his shoulder. “It is time.”

T’Chaka drew a deep breath, nodded solemnly to his son, and left the room to become king. 

* * *

When T’Chaka returned — after the public ceremony at the waterfall and the private ceremony of seeking his ancestors’ advice — his coronation was old news to his son. T’Chaka waited for T’Challa at the palace gate, and when T’Challa saw him, he broke away from his grandmother and started running, his bookbag bouncing heedlessly against his shoulders, wrinkling his school uniform jacket. 

“Baba!” he cried, and T’Chaka opened his arms. 

“My son,” T’Chaka greeted him joyfully. “How was school? Tell me what you learned today.”

“I don’t remember my lessons,” said T’Challa, which was unusual for such an intelligent and curious boy. “I saw the girl from the River Tribe again!”

“What girl?” asked T’Chaka. He glanced up at his mother, who rolled her eyes. 

“It’s all he’ll talk about, this girl from the River Tribe,” she explained in an undertone. “Two days now, and he hasn’t said a word otherwise.”

“She is so smart and funny and strong, Baba,” T’Challa gushed. “I met her at the coronation, but she came to my school today for the tournament—”

T’Chaka frowned. “Tournament?”

“Judo competition,” Nanali clarified for him.

“Ah,” said T’Chaka. He’d forgotten about that.

“—and she won the division!” T’Challa continued. “You should seen her, Baba, this other girl almost pinned her, but then—”

T’Challa made a series of complicated hand and foot gestures, then mimicked the sound of an explosion. 

“It was so cool, Baba,” he concluded fervently. 

The American word in his son’s voice made T’Chaka chuckle. “I believe you,” he said. He put a hand on T’Challa’s shoulder and led him inside the palace. “Come, you can tell me more about her over dinner.”

“Better you than me,” Nanali muttered behind him. 

* * *

It turned out that the father of the girl from the River Tribe was A’Kurru, one of Wakanda’s most renowned biologists, and her mother was Marija, a former Dora who’d served T’Chaka’s father, King Azzuri. As such, T’Chaka thought it was perfectly acceptable to extend a luncheon invitation to the family a week after T’Challa told him about her.

Nakia was her name, and a very polite girl she was, curtseying to T’Chaka and his mother before nodding to T’Challa. T’Chaka could tell she was stifling a grin, but when he looked at his son for an answering smile, he didn’t find one. Instead, T’Challa seemed frozen, his eyes locked on Nakia. 

“T’Challa,” Nanali prompted under her breath. “Manners,” she hissed a moment later when he still hadn’t spoken. 

“Hi,” T’Challa said finally. It had been at least a minute since he blinked. 

“Hi,” Nakia replied, shy where she hadn’t been a moment ago when she greeted the king.

“Perhaps you’d like to take Nakia outside, and explore the grounds?” Nanali suggested, her tone only mildly exasperated. “Assuming you approve,” she added to Nakia’s parents.

“A lovely idea,” said A’Kurru warmly. He nudged his daughter’s shoulder. “Go ahead, Nakia, I know you’d love to ruin your dress climbing trees.”

“I wouldn’t ruin my dress if you hadn’t made me wear one in the first place,” Nakia countered, with an air of smugness that only young girls can master. 

“Such sass in front of your king,” Marija tsked, but T’Chaka was laughing. Not for the first time, he wished N’Yami had lived to bless him with a daughter as well. 

“Come on,” said Nakia to T’Challa, seemingly oblivious to her mother’s scolding. 

She reached out her hand. Slowly, like he was moving underwater, T’Challa took it and smiled.

Two of the Dora Milaje broke formation to follow the children — and the sound of their laughter — outside. T’Chaka and his mother led the guests into the front parlor, where the kitchen staff had arranged platters of canapé on the sideboard. 

They chatted for close to an hour about A’Kurru’s work with endangered species at the university; T’Chaka found it fascinating, and not only because he knew that the Council had been considering an increase to the number of research grants available in the upcoming budget. Marija listened to her husband and didn’t speak much, but her contributions were clever and — once she’d relaxed around T’Chaka somewhat — amusing as well.

When the chef entered to announce that the meal would be ready in the dining room in five minutes, T’Chaka had a sudden idea. 

“Why don’t we eat on the terrace,” he suggested. “We can have the table set in the shade, and the children can make all the mess they want to.”

Marija looked slightly startled at the suggestion — perhaps she was expecting him to be more severe about the children, as his father was — but a moment later she smiled and nodded. 

“As you wish, Your Highness,” she said with a slight bow. She’d let her hair grow out, but T’Chaka could still see the edges of her tattoos.

He nodded and gestured for her to lead the way. When they got outside, they found T’Challa hanging from a tree limb, and Nakia laughing at him from the ground, covered head to toe in dirt. 

A’Kurru laughed, Marija scowled, and Nanali muttered that they would never hear the end of this— but T’Chaka knew she was just as happy as he was. 


	2. T'Chaka's Wedding (Age Fifteen)

“Please, T’Challa,” Nanali tried, desperate to get through to him. “You know what this means to your father.”

“I don’t care,” the boy replied. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, obscuring the stained lettering on his secondary school sweatshirt. He’d only been at the school for one year, but the sweater was too small already, the cuffs halfway up his elbows. It was the shirt he wore for football practice and chores; Nanali knew he wore it on purpose today, to bother her.

She held out the traditional clothing that T’Chaka had chosen for his son — the clothing that Amaya, her seamstress, had painstakingly tailored three times in the last month, trying to account for T’Challa’s seemingly never-ending growth spurt. 

And it appeared that all of Amaya’s work was for nothing, since T’Challa refused to wear it. 

“The guests are arriving,” Nanali told him. She hoped to Bast that that wasn’t true, but that it would be the motivation T’Challa needed. 

But T’Challa — sullen, angry, wounded T’Challa — remained unmoved. “I don’t care,” he said again.

Nanali sighed and went to the door of the dressing room. She opened it and looked out, but T’Chaka was nowhere in sight — no doubt making himself ready. Zuri, however, was pacing in the antechamber, his ceremonial robe swaying around his legs while he muttered to himself, rehearsing his speech. 

“Zuri,” she hissed. 

Zuri came at once. “Yes, Queen Mother?” he said with a slight bow. 

“Fetch the king,” she instructed. 

A flicker of hesitation crossed Zuri’s face. “But, my Queen, he is communing with the ancestors. He cannot be interrupted.”

Nanali suppressed another sigh. She understood the tradition, but in this moment, the needs of T’Chaka’s ancestors paled in comparison to the needs of his only descendant.

“Is there something I can do?” Zuri offered.

“Can you convince a fifteen-year-old boy to do as he’s told for once?” Nanali asked in an undertone. 

“Ah,” said Zuri. His eyes travelled over Nanali’s shoulder, no doubt taking in T’Challa’s unkempt appearance. “I think that is a job best left to his father.”

Nanali nodded in agreement, but before she could suggest Zuri step into the role, T’Challa called across the room. 

“I can hear you,” he said. “It’s rude to talk about people like they are not there.”

“If you would listen to me, I could talk  _ to _ you rather than  _ about _ you,” Nanali countered, whirling around and nearly losing her headdress in the motion.

“Why should I?” T’Challa asked, getting to his feet. “You never listen to me. You and Father are both the same, you do not care one bit about how I feel.”

“You know that’s not true,” Nanali answered in a lower tone, hoping it would signal to him that he should calm down. “T’Challa, you know—”

But teenage boys are not generally calm, and T’Challa was not finished. “I know nothing! Nothing except that Father does not like to be alone, so I have no choice but to stand by and accept that this woman, this—” here, T’Challa said a shocking, vulgar word that Nanali did not even know he knew— “from the River Tribe will be my new mother! She is not, and I don’t care if she marries my father a hundred times, she never will be. My mother is dead, has everyone forgotten?”

T’Challa’s eyes were bright with tears despite his anger, and Nanali let her annoyance with the boy slip away. She took the headdress off, and reached out cautiously like T’Challa was an antelope that might spook easily. 

“Come,” she said quietly. He consented to her taking his hand, and she led him to a small couch on the far side of the room. She caught a flash of purple—Zuri had stepped out into the hall, and closed the door behind him without a word.

“Gogo,” T’Challa began, shame now in his features, his voice. 

“It’s all right,” Nanali said, fending off the apology. “I know you’re not upset with me. Or, not with me alone.”

T’Challa was silent again. 

“Your mother was an incredible woman, T’Challa,” Nanali told him. “She had a sort of light around her, within her. I knew from the moment your father brought her home to me that she was special.”

“So you’ve told me,” said T’Challa, a hint of teenage attitude returning.

“And so you should remember,” said Nanali, because she could give attitude right back. “She is irreplaceable. Your father knows this, and he is not asking you to fill her place in your heart. But Ramonda is in his heart, and, if you try to accept her there, she will be in yours. Not as your mother is,” Nanali added, “but hopefully as a friend.”

T’Challa said nothing.

“You do not have to accept her there today,” Nanali continued. “But do not shut her out, either. It does no good to lock the door before the guest has a chance to knock.”

“I’m sorry, Gogo,” said T’Challa. The tears that had been in his eyes before were on his cheeks now. Nanali reached over, pulling her grandson to her chest. 

“I forgive you,” she said into his hair. “You are young still, and learning.” She pulled back and framed his face with her hands, wiping the moisture away with her thumbs. “My beautiful boy, you are learning.”

* * *

The ceremony went smoothly—praise be to Bast—and as the staff cleared the tables for dancing, Nanali noticed T’Challa leaning against a far wall. He seemed to be eyeing Ramonda and a group of her attendants, all dressed in the traditional green hues of the River Tribe, and for a moment, Nanali was worried that he was going to do something rash. Her mind flashed back to his earlier displays of anger, but she had nothing to fear; T’Challa was smiling, albeit somewhat shyly, in the direction of his step-mother.

Suppressing a smile of her own, Nanali made her way across the room and leaned in close to his ear. “She won’t bite, you know,” she told him. 

T’Challa started in surprise and whipped his head around. “Gogo,” he said, sounding scandalized. Nanali could practically feel the heat rise from his face. 

“What?” said Nanali, confused by his reaction. “I only meant that Ramonda would welcome your congratulations. What happened this afternoon is forgotten. You can speak to her with a clear conscience and begin your relationship on a good note.”

T’Challa was staring at her, his eyes wide and completely baffled, but before Nanali could ask what was wrong, someone else spoke. 

“Prince T’Challa,” a girl said from behind Nanali. “My congratulations to you and the Royal Family.”

T’Challa’s eyes went somehow wider, becoming fixed on a point over Nanali’s shoulder. Confused, and feeling rather caught in the middle, Nanali stepped to the side. At once, she understood. 

“Nakia,” T’Challa breathed, after a long moment of silence. 

“Ah,” said Nanali to herself, since neither of them were likely to notice her any time soon. “The girl from the River Tribe.”

She turned back towards Ramonda, to find her absent one young attendant but now joined by her new husband. T’Chaka’s smile grew as he reached out and took his new wife in his arms, to the cheers of the crowd. 

“Like father, like son,” Nanali said, though only she could hear it over the joyful noise. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone would like to take this up, I have notes for the other 4 chapters that I am happy to share <3


End file.
